The Artist of Manticore
by Lancer47
Summary: Can an X Series ever really escape Manticore? Not just physically, but mentally.
1. Chapter 1

**The Artist of Manticore**

A Dark Angel Fan Fiction

by S. T. Farnham _(Lancer47)_

Rating: T(PG-13) for some language that's unsuitable for young people and others with tender sensibilities.

Genre: General/Adventure

Summary:

Can an X-series ever really escape Manticore? Not just physically, but mentally.

Authors Notes:  
In my Dark Angel Universe, there are no 'nomilies', no Familiars, and Zack is back to normal, well, as normal as Zack ever was. I have made an attempt to be correct continuity-wise, but I have strayed a little from the straight and narrow. So don't be surprised if there are a few small things which are turned and twisted out of order.

Disclaimer:  
The Dark Angel Universe is owned by Eglee and Cameron, not me. I'm just visiting, not making any money off it. And may Horrible Flaming Death befall the television executives who canceled the show.

License: This work is licensed under the:

'Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike License'._To view a copy of this license, visit: _creativecommons dot org   
Or send a letter to Creative Commons, 559 Nathan Abbott Way, Stanford, California 94305, USA._Briefly, anyone is free to add to this work as long as correct attribution is maintained. But commercial use is not allowed or possible._

**Prologue**

Yellow flames leaping into the air were reflected in Jack-Cat's wide green eyes. The orange tomcat lay on his stomach at the edge of the dark forest, his front claws angrily kneading damp leaves, his tail softly whacking a rotted log, watching strange two-legs running around carrying things with their front paws and acting in a manner Jack-Cat found even more incomprehensible than usual. Then they all got in their trucks and drove off. He watched his house burn. His whiskers and ears twitched as a tendril of smoke swirled in his direction.

He wished there were someone around to call him, so he could think about answering to his name. He would've liked to lie in his two-leg's lap, curled up and warm, her familiar scent suffusing his nose, or even his cousin two-legs with his strange yet oddly satisfying smell.

By and by, his stomach growled. With a heavy sigh he got up and padded off into the underbrush, hoping he would find an unwary but tasty furry chaser.

**Chapter I**

_If you are going through hell, keep going._

–_Winston Churchill_

February,2009

Wild rumors flew around all day. First, we were locked down until noon. Then Colonel Lydecker called us out for formation and made a tiresome speech about loyalty and devotion to duty. We really didn't understand what he was getting at, after all, back then we were only about seven years old. And he had more than the usual number of soldiers standing around watching us. And they all stared with suspicion and fear, more than most days anyway.

Eventually the rumors settled down and a few facts filtered into our barracks. Twelve of the X-5's were AWOL. Escaped, some said. Except we weren't entirely certain of what they escaped to, since we had only a very confused and incomplete notion of what existed outside of Manticore.

After that day, training became even tougher, with mandatory psych sessions, and they managed to figure out a way to reduce what little free time we had to almost nothing. It seemed to me that they were terrified that we might start thinking unauthorized thoughts. Especially since Lydecker never told us what really happened to the missing X-5's. There were even rumors that they had all been caught and executed on the spot. I'm pretty sure Lydecker started that one himself.

Eventually the fuss died down and everything became routine once again. But my own difficulties only increased as time went on because while everyone else was concentrating on learning to soldier, I kept noticing how light affected the landscape. At seven I had never heard of _chiaroscuros_, but if someone had defined it for me, I would have instantly understood. For to me the whole world consisted of light, shadow, contrast, and color. I studied the light, and I studied how it reflected, and noticed the specular highlights and textures and variations in color and everything about the landscape around us. I had a tendency to be riveted by the way the morning dew glittered in the sunlight when I should have been paying attention to live-fire exercises. Potentially dangerous.

Although live-fire exercise also afforded me the opportunity to study priceless expressions, expressions that I normally didn't see on my brothers and sisters, all Sixth Generation 'X' Series Trans-Gene Engineered Soldiers. Even now I could draw from memory the planes of the faces of my siblings, and imbue those drawings with their deepest fears as bullets zinged by, sometimes only inches away as we dodged and swerved in terror. Although I can imagine situations where such skills could be useful, I had luckily avoided people trying to shoot me: possibly luck had little to do with it.

I couldn't name what I was seeing, not then anyway, and I wasn't sure what to do with what I had observed. But I couldn't help myself from looking at the world through eyes of an artist.

In 2009 I didn't know that it would be five terrible years before I could escape, five years to think and plan and most of all, to survive.

**-- --**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

_Life is short, art is long…_

– _Hippocrates_

February 14, 2020

I stared at the canvas from my quiet spot. The world was slowly disappearing from my notice as my concentration focused on paint, brush, and canvas, but most of all on the picture in my mind that was slowly and inexorably taking shape on the canvas. I was in my studio, looking at a work that I had started more than a year ago. That's what it takes if you paint in oil in the classic seven layer style. There were six layers of paint on this canvas, each layer a different series of colors, each layer for a different purpose. Each layer took a day or three for me to complete, then I let it dry for seven weeks before proceeding to the next step. The final layer, the bright color layer, would bring everything to life with details and reflections and color. The colors would show up as deep, rich, brilliant, even sparkly where they where supposed to be sparkly. All the layers together would create an optical illusion—an illusion of great depth as well as fantasy come to life. And it would last for many centuries, I don't know how important that's going to be to others, but it's important to me.

I was using a #3 Kolinsky brush with Prussian blue, making rapid strokes for texture. Occasionally, I would trade with a flat blending brush to smooth out the transitions. This particular painting was a landscape, a specialty of mine. At first glance it looked like a classical landscape: you could find similar examples in every art museum in the world. But a closer look showed some unusual objects, perhaps unnatural, and a darkness that was central to the theme. But I always showed a way out, towards the light. That's my theme, in fact, that's the whole theme of any of us X-series that escaped Manticore.

I often wondered if my transgenic reflexes helped or hindered my art. I figure that I was so used to my superhuman reflexes that it probably helped in ways I didn't realize. But one thing for sure, my upbringing was dark and violent, and that affected my work from the first pencil stroke to the last varnish coat.

When I finished painting for the day I carefully cleaned my brushes in turpentine. After washing them in soap and water, fussily shaping the bristles and putting them on the drying rack, I pulled up a chair and sat down in front of my work, to judge it, see if it was good enough. To see if the year and a half of time and work was worth it. Mind you, I still needed to add a little paint tomorrow, then I would let it dry for six months. Then it would be varnished, or destroyed. I was possibly a lot pickier than was good for me.

It was always that way though, I thought, as I leaned back and let my mind drift back to my time in Manticore. This was the one time of year that I wished I could confide my past with someone. I considered this my birthday, not the actual birth of course—like all X series I didn't know when that was—but the day of my liberation.

**-- --**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

_It's mercy, compassion, and forgiveness I lack, not rationality._

– _Beatrix Kiddo (Kill Bill, Vol. 1)_

February 19, 2014, Manticore Base, Wyoming.

My twelve year-old self hung off the face of the cliff by one hand jammed into a narrow crack in the rock. My other hand was searching for just the right sized chock to stuff in the crack above me. I did have a line to a piton slightly below me, but it was none too secure, and I had no partner that night, so I was rushing just a little bit. It was a fairly dark night, there were clouds scudding across the moon, causing even those of us with enhanced night vision to be unable to see as clearly as usual. The other side of the gorge was shadowed and fuzzy, and that meant that if anyone on the other side were awake, they probably couldn't see me, which I was counting on.

I had found a trespasser earlier in the day, and I had carefully prepared him for this nights adventure. I was finally seeing the fruition of years of planning: an escape from Manticore with a little leeway if everything went well. A couple of days head start was all I needed to disappear from Lydecker's vision. My plan was a little hard on the trespassing hiker, but standing orders were to terminate all unauthorized persons on discovery. The fact that most of the time, if none of the guards or Lydecker was around, we would just point such lost individuals the way out, and explain in no uncertain terms that if they didn't leave instantly they would be executed on sight, had no bearing on the matter. We had never been told that it's wrong to kill people, just the opposite in fact. But we still came to that conclusion on our own. But still, compared to norms, we could and did kill if we thought there was a good enough reason, like avoiding KP or cleaning the heads or some other undesirable activity.

That hiker gave up his life so I could get started on my quest to be free. I thought it was good trade at the time, although as the years went by that particular death weighed more and more heavily on me.

So my plan, such as it was, was to toss the corpse into the river, accompanied by an artistic warbling scream, and to leave a very carefully arranged cliff-clinging campsite that showed signs of rock failure around a piton or two, thus supposedly dumping me down into the rocky river in my sleep. I knew very well that none of my preparations would fool Colonel Lydecker for long. He knew our abilities better than we did, and I didn't think that he would believe for one instant that I had been so foolish as to depend on even one, much less two, incorrectly placed pitons. But I also knew that he was in Washington DC for a week of meetings, and that most, if not all, of his ordinary soldiers were freaked out by X-5s and even more by X-6s and would not think to question anything, until Lydecker got back.

And I also knew that I couldn't get away with trying to arrange equipment failure. Manticore equipment started out with the best available, and then our various in-house artisans made it better. Thus, equipment failure was something we learned about in classrooms, not in the field.

So after I finally got myself secured to the cliff face, I pulled on the nylon line that had the hiker tied to it, and caught him as he tumbled down from the top of the cliff. I untied him and tossed him into the deepest part of the very fast moving river, eighty meters below, hoping that it would get sucked under the ice a few hundred meters downstream, and wouldn't come out for a klick or two of a very rocky passage. Thus, the corpse would be beaten to near unrecognizability, at least until they could do DNA sampling back at the lab.

I was worried that I couldn't take all my gear with me, but I had to leave enough to make it look like I hadn't taken any. But I did have the hiker's gear, although it was of low quality compared to what I was used to using. I climbed up the cliff, removing my pitons and chocks and scuffing out any marks and scrapes. Then it was just a simple matter of running about a hundred kilometers with a thirty kilogram backpack over rough terrain: easy for a twelve year old X-6. By dawn I was at a carefully selected highway, with my thumb out. My luck held, I got a ride from a trucker within minutes. The next day I had made it as far as Denver, four more days and I was in Seattle. I don't know why I felt like stopping there, I just did. I managed to work my way into one of the many programs that various organizations had for orphaned teenagers, and since I never let on that I knew forty-three distinctly different ways to kill people with my bare hands, as well as one hundred sixteen ways to disable attackers, they didn't think I was out of the ordinary. From then to now I lived for art, immersed myself in art, studied: art techniques, methods of art, history of art, artistic styles, art fashions, psychology of art, art of seeing, physics of light as it applied to paint, chemistry of paint, computers, printing, digital art, graphic art... etc. I did it all, and plan to continue until I die.

**-- --**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

_I've had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn't it._

– _Groucho Marx (1890 - 1977)_

February 16, 2020

Dinner at Denise's house. As we walked up the sidewalk to her parents house, she said, "Now don't be put off by my grandmother's way. She can be – umm, blunt. Well, anyway, you'll see."

The door opened as we stepped onto the stoop, "Denise dear, how are you?" said Mrs. Fisher, obviously delighted to see her daughter. She looked a little brittle to me; that made me look forward to meeting her mother-in-law. Mr. Fisher took our coats and we heard from the living room, "Who the hell's out there! I can't see a goddamn thing!" I won't try to duplicate her accent, her 'can't' sounded more like _'caint'_ and her thing more like '_thang_', you'll just have to supply your own accent if you want.

"Now mother," said Mrs. Fisher as we walked from the foyer, "this is Denise and her very good friend, Lowman."

"Lowman! What the fuck kind of wussy name is that!" she shouted as she looked at me owlishly.

"Well," I replied, as we sat down on the couch, "back when I was in military school, I usually got the lowest grades in anything to do with military science. So I was the low man on the totem pole, thus Lowman." Jack-Cat leaped into Denise's lap from ten feet behind. I was aware of him with my enhanced hearing, so wasn't too surprised, but Denise was startled. The cat butted her chin ecstatically with his head and purred audibly.

"Well I never! I guess it's a good thing you became an artist, huh!"

Denise looked at me strangely. This was the first she had ever heard of this so-called 'Military School', and I didn't think it pleased her much. "Actually, I was always an artist, some of my buddies called me 'Art' for awhile. But they didn't mean it as a complement, and when I took it that way, they stopped calling me Art." Jack-Cat transferred his attention to me and, in a friendly feline manner, tried to dig his claws into my chest.

"How come that cat likes you so much? Dratted thing never did anything but give me an evil growl," the old lady observed archly.

Mrs. Fisher stood up and invited us into the dining room.

As dinner was served by the quiet butler (the Fisher's had to let go the footmen, even the wealthy had to cut back during the post-pulse depression) Grandma Fisher let loose with a series of ribald stories that were much appreciated by me and Denise, and I think by her dad, although he hid it well. But very much unappreciated by her mom, who kept trying to shush her mother-in-law, she might as well have tried to stop the Pacific tide.

"So Lowman," Mrs. Fisher asked me while getting a word in sideways and trying valiantly to change the subject, "Military School. This is the first we've heard of that. When was this?"

"I left just before turning thirteen, I think they were glad to see me go, and really, I'd rather forget about it."

"So why didn't you go back to your real name?"

"Lowman IS my real name," I said without thinking. Then I remembered, most people outside of Manticore are given names by their parents, not their creche-mates. My little story had them thinking that Lowman was merely a nickname, it was still so easy to misstep with life among the normals. So I changed the subject.

"Did Denise mention that I am going to be hung in a downtown gallery?" Grandma looked at me oddly while Denise tittered.

"He means," she said, "that his WORK is being displayed in an ART gallery."

Grandmother's expression said 'Oh', but I think she thought I was a lunatic, but perhaps not the dangerous kind.

"Well, good. I wish you success." Her tone was unconvincing and doubtful of my ability to keep her granddaughter in food, clothes, and housing. I know that may be a lot to get from tone of voice, but her tone was adamant.

After dinner as we walked across the broad foyer to the living room, I heard a car pull up and stop in front of the house. But I didn't think it was important until the front door crashed open in front of us, the lock splintering in the frame, the doorknob smashing the wallboard through to the studs. It's a good thing no one was standing behind the door. Three armed men dressed in black strode through the opening. The last one shut the door behind him as best he could. I saw a flash of orange as the cat disappeared towards the back of the house.

We backed up. I looked carefully at the intruders and tried to anticipate their moves and technique. I could see they were norms, so maybe they weren't after me. Now all I had to do was kill them without endangering my friends and without exposing myself, if possible. I stepped slightly away from everyone, not quite enough to get noticed.

The leader smiled cruelly and shoved Mrs. Fisher back into the wall, knocking a painting off it's hooks in the process. Mr. Fisher protested, wringing hands and all, as the painting of his father crashed to the floor and he was smashed with the butt of the leaders' Walther P88 9mm handgun. His protest died on his lips as he slid shaken and bloody to the floor beside his wife. Grandma Fisher just glared angrily. I took the opportunity to step sideways a little bit more.

I really couldn't believe it, after six years of studying art and actively trying to forget everything I had been taught about weapons and killing, the moment an armed thug stepped into view and threatened my girlfriend, catalogs of weapons and killing hand strikes cascaded through my head. The other two nut cases were carrying 45ACP Colt M1911A1's. Well, one was a Colt, the other a knockoff. The real Colt had been Accurized at one time, but showed signs of being thrown around and abused since then. Fact is, I think all of their guns were way older than me, but I settled on the Walther as the one to confiscate for my use, I wasn't sure about firing that false Colt because Colonel Lydecker taught us at a very early age to be wary of knockoffs.

"All right now," the leader said, "I want all you victims naked. We'll put plastic sheets down in the living room. After we've had our rocks off, then we bring out the knives, scalpels, icepicks and hot pokers and cut you up into pieces. It'll be a hell of a lot fun, for us anyway, not so much for you guys, ha! I've been wanting to try this really cool eyeball puller! Sometime in the early morning you will all be dead, and we'll have it all on film." He held up a very fancy looking digital video camera, in fact it was thoroughly out of place because of its professional look.

Mrs. Fisher also seemed startled when she caught sight of the camera, as if she recognized it. I stepped sideways a bit more. Denise was utterly terrified, as was everyone except me and the villains. The third intruder, who had been quiet up to now, noticed my last sideways step and said to me, "Hey asshole, get yer ass over there next to the rest of the soon-to-be-tortured."

All three now had their guns pointed in my general direction, away from the family, so I took that as a signal to move. And I had to move _fast. _I probably looked blurred to the others and I hated doing that in front of them, but it was pretty obvious that I had better take care of this little problem as fast as humanly possible—all right, faster. As I moved towards the leader I had to jink sideways to avoid a couple of bullets, when I reached him I broke his right arm with my right hand and snatched his Walther with my left and aimed it at the other two. Two shots, two down. Right elbow to the solar plexus and the leader was down. Hmmm, looks like you can take the boy out of Manticore, but you can't take Manticore out of the boy.

I gathered their weapons and then helped the parents up and asked for some rope or something. Mr. Fisher said shakily that there were some heavy duty plastic ties in the garage. I got them and secured my prisoners, well the two who were still breathing anyway.

"So," I asked, "what do we do now? If you want these two dead, let me know and I'll take care of it. But you need to make that decision, not me, because when I took up 'A Life of Art' I promised myself that I would never again kill, except in self defense. We could call the police, but that has a potential downside that I need to talk to you about. But notice that whether we take care of these creeps ourselves or call the police, whoever sent them is still out there. And probably still really pissed at something one of us did, judging by his determination to make a point. Which brings me to the third possibility: I can call some friends and we will take care of the problem, with your help."

Grandma Fisher said, "Well hell and damnation boy, if you were the low man on the totem pole, I'm not at all sure I'd like to meet your classmates!"

"How, how, how," asked Denise querulously, "did you DO that?"

"Oh," I sighed, "My military training started from before my birth. It was a hush-hush government project, and they included some science experiments to make us tougher and faster. But all I ever wanted was out, so I could paint." I caught a pained expression from one of my tied-up prisoners. "Lets move to another room," I added, nodding towards the captives.

"But won't they escape?"

"No, when I was eleven years old I got an A-minus in Prisoner Restraint."

Denise and her dad both glanced at me with odd expressions.

Mr. Fisher said, "I've gotta ask, what was the minus for?"

"Oh, I had a habit of allowing my knots to be just loose enough so no one would lose their limbs due to lack of blood flow. Colonel Lydecker thought that was a little soft and constantly harped on me to make my knots tighter."

"Isn't it illegal to train children like that?"

"Yes, especially in pre-pulse times."

"But this project must have started well before the pulse!"

"Yes, hence the secrecy and oppressive security. You see, if the people who run this project ever catch wind of my presence here, they would restrain and torture all of you for information on my whereabouts and habits. Then you would simply disappear—another post-pulse mystery that no one would have time to solve. And please don't think that I am exaggerating for effect, they believe they are above the law, that they are the law. Colonel Lydecker is a poster child for the proposition that the ends justify the means. He believes himself to be a true patriot, that just makes him more dangerous because he feels that he can get away with anything because it's all for a good cause."

Denise wrenched herself away from looking at me in terror. Perhaps she was steadying down a little. "So mother," she asked, "why did you flinch when you saw the camera?"

"Yes Lacy dear," added Grandma, "I caught that flinch too."

"Ah, well," she said shakily, "you know I have been working on this case for the last five years concerning an obscure bit of patent law and and a biotech firm. My second chair, Harry Arnold, and I believe we have found a way to win, but it is long odds..."

Grandma interrupted impatiently, "Please be brief, I know how you like to go on about legal crap!"

Denise's mother continued as if there were no interruption, "Otherwise, the opposition will probably prevail, although it will be many years down the road. So last week, Old Winston, the senior partner at my firm, calls us in and suggests a way to short circuit the whole deal, but it involves unethical behavior—the manufacturing of evidence. Both Harry and I refused on principle and Winston agreed, saying he didn't like it either and to carry on.

He then talked to each of us separately, I know this because Harry and I compared notes. At these private meetings Winston become more importunate, more insistent, that we go down the fraudulent road. But we both refused yet again, and in my case, I may have been imprudently undiplomatic as well.

Just this morning Winston called me into his office again. And he just talked about family and the weather and other such inconsequentials. And somewhere in that talk, he picked up a camera, this camera in point of fact, and said it was a prototype, the only one of its kind outside of China, and he said something, a throwaway comment, something about how '_I'll remember him the next time I see this camera_.' I didn't pay much attention at the time, but now I know what he meant. He was going to show a video to Harry, a hi-def video in color, showing my slow death, and then I should think Winston would get what he wanted from Harry."

"Hmm," I said, "I believe I have to call in some high-powered help. I don't really have the wherewithal to keep you all safe while simultaneously bringing down your law firm."

"Bring down...? You can't do that, the firm is very large and powerful, offices in every major city, hundreds of partners, with influence that you can't imagine."

"Well, at least bring down the bad guys, surely the whole firm isn't made up of bloodsucking fiends?" I asked.

"Isn't that a description of all lawyers?" asked Grandmother.

"Of course not, I'm not unethical, am I?" said Mrs. Fisher, huffily.

"Call for help son, it's obvious we need it," said Mr. Fisher.

"You realize," I said, "that the help I call may go ahead and kill our prisoners, in fact, I don't see a way out of that; just because I won't make that decision doesn't mean that decision won't get made."

"Go ahead and make the call, there's no listing for Dispose-A-Bodies-R-Us in the Yellow Pages."

-- --

"So Max," asked Original Cindy as she cut a piece of steak with her fork, "Original Cindy wants to know if you stole a cow and butchered it out back to get us these steaks."

"You don't steal cows OC, you rustle them, and of course I didn't, why would you think that?" asked Max.

"Well, you know, you murdered and ate a cute little chicken right in this apartment."

"Hey, I cooked it first. But no, this is from a grateful client of Logan's, I did him a favor and this was a tip."

"That's some tip, this is prime beef, cost enough to keep a family of four fed for a month, at least if they weren't too particular."

"Something like that." OC didn't press Max any further.

The phone rang, Original Cindy answered it, "You want Max? Sure boo, who shall I say is calling? She doesn't know you huh, well I don't know if I should give her the message or not in that case. How does Original Cindy know whether or not you some kind of nut job or not? You could be anyone, a perv maybe. You a perv, boy?"

Max waved her hand and signaled OC for the phone. Original Cindy rolled her eyes and handed it to her. "Max here," she said into the phone.

"Hi Max, you don't know me, but I'm your, uh, um, cousin, younger cousin. And I really need you're help."

"Yeah?" Max said suspiciously, "I don't recognize your voice."

"Look, I know Alec, he can vouch for me."

"And that's supposed to impress me?"

"I know, I know, but Alec is the only one I know who is in town and knows our former school, and knows I left before graduation, like you and your siblings did, a few years before me."

"So how do I know this isn't a trap?" Max fairly bristled with suspicion.

"If I were working with our former – schoolmaster – you'd be surrounded now. In fact, you would have been in custody a year ago when I first noticed you, and you and all your friends would be undergoing psy-ops, or worse. Look, I've got trouble, the kind of trouble that could be dangerous for us, all of us. And I don't think I can handle it alone."

Max sighed. "OK, can I assume that you are calling from an untraceable phone?"

"Yes. I haven't forgotten ALL my lessons, though I've certainly tried. Let's meet at that bicycle bar you like so much. That's where I first saw you."

-- --

February 17, 2020

It was after midnight when I walked into the Crash and spotted Alec sitting with Max's roommate and some scruffy looking people. Just as I started to wonder where Max was an arm that felt like it was made of steel whipped around my neck and what felt like a gun was pressed into my back. I was unceremoniously hustled into a dark alcove. I didn't fight, I figured this must be Max. She pulled my hair roughly back from my neck and she paused a moment, then threw me into the opposite wall.

"You're no X-5," she growled at me.

"No," agreed Alec, who had sauntered up beside her, "he's a Six, X6-471 to be sure. I remember him, there was another big fuss about five years after you guys escaped; at first everyone thought the butthead managed to kill himself by falling off a cliff in his sleep. That was quite an artistic scream you did there buddy," Alex said to me in an aside, "Then Lydecker got back from some meetings or other and went to inspect the site. He was fuming after he saw what you had done and started an all points recovery effort. To no avail, no one's seen him until now." He looked at me again and added, "I see you've still got that 'tude—you still think you're better than everyone else?"

"What? What are you talking about? From 2009 until 2014 I was utterly terrified every waking moment. I am an artist, I've always been one and I'll always be one. I don't know what attitude you're talking about. I mean, talk about 'tudes, just look at you!" I was a little angry at him, "But we don't have time to argue, let's sit down and talk about our difficulty."

"And where's your damn bar code? The skin isn't even red, you don't have one," asked Max, a little enviously I think.

"I was destined for an undercover unit, there were just a few of us but our barcodes are only visible under UV light." Max's expression was unreadable to me. I followed her back to their table, Alec followed me, making me feel a little like a prisoner. I was surprised when we sat down and I was introduced to Logan Cale and Original Cindy as an X-6.

"Do you guys broadcast information about Manticore to all the world? Or just all of your friends?

"No, just these two. Although Zack would prefer that I had no friends at all."

"Is Zack still...? No never mind, I don't care. The subject at hand: I was having dinner with my girlfriend at her parents house. The door burst in and three armed thugs invaded the house and made their intentions clear: rape, torture and murder was uppermost on their minds. And they had a very expensive professional quality digital video camera, with loads of petabytes and stuff to make high quality movies. There wasn't any way to finesse them, or hide my abilities from the family, so I took them out. One's dead, the other two aren't, although they need a hospital."

"So what this got to do with us?" Max asked, peremptorily I thought, "we sure as hell aren't running a charity hospital for crooks."

"No, no, I could give a shit about them. The problem is who sent them, and why."

"Well, Original Cindy don't see how no low-rent gangsters could have been sent by Manticore. I mean, they got all those expensive high-grade soldiers available, that's if they still exist in some secret hideaway somewhere."

"No," I continued, "it's my girlfriend's mother. She's some kind of high-powered lawyer who works in one of those white-shoe law firmsi, a big one, with offices all over the place. She's been working on a big case, the kind that last for decades maybe, and the client is some sort of biotech firm. It was her boss wanted her to get unethical and all, and she wouldn't, he planned this little commotion, a demonstration as it were, that we believe would cause her second-in-command, who would become first, and would likely become very willing to do whatever the boss wanted after witnessing the tape."

There was silence, general frowns all around as everyone took it in.

"So you can see why I am worried: 1) biotech, 2) Lydecker level violence, and 3) Even if items one and two turn out to be irrelevant, I still need some help to take down the bad guys in the Law Firm, because I'm not really a soldier, I'm an artist. So there you have it, whaddaya say?"

-- --

i


	5. Chapter 5

**Interlude**

Jack-Cat was back at his observation post after snacking on a slow but tasty field mouse. His house was still burning, in fact the flames were even higher. He could feel the heat even from across the spacious back yard. He heard sirens in the distance. The sound worried him so he scooted backwards a little further under the logs and deep shadows. Trucks pulled up to the house, one even drove around on the yard to the side of the house. A multitude of strange two-legs jumped off the trucks and started running around in a way that Jack-Cat found confusing and frightening. It started to rain on the house, and then the flames slowly, very slowly, started to die down a little.

An insect beetled incautiously in front of Jack-Cat: he trapped it with his right paw. After sniffing it thoroughly he swallowed it whole. The little legs tickled as it went down his throat. He cleaned his fur for a few minutes. Then he sighed without contentment and rested his head on his front legs for a short but nervous catnap.

-- --

Chapter Five

_Whatever is not nailed down is mine. _

_Whatever I can pry loose is not nailed down._

– _Collis P. Huntington (1821 – 1900)_

February 17, 2020

I rode with Max on her Ninja back to the Fisher's house. Alec faded into the background, I assumed he would act as perimeter security. Max drove without lights as if the hounds of hell were chasing us—man that was fun! But all too soon we arrived at the house. Apparently they heard us pull into the drive because Denise opened the door as we walked up the sidewalk. The whole family, as well as the tied up home invaders, stared at Max and me with some apprehension. But then Denise broke the silence with a slightly crazed laugh and she exclaimed, "THIS is your help? You go out into the night and drag back a beautiful girl?" She laughed some more, in a way that left me more than a little worried.

"Please Denise, you're not helping much. This is Max, she is also a product of the same government experiment that produced me. I assure you, she is not merely as good as me, she is better."

Max walked over to one of the tied prisoners and squatted down by his side. She leaned over and lifted his head and asked him, "Who hired you for this job." He mumbled something unintelligible and Max twisted his neck. The audible crack made everyone (except me) jump, especially the only live prisoner left, who had become the very picture of wild-eyed terror. I mentally recorded that expression for a painting I would do someday. A very dark and unsettling painting I think.

Max walked over and just looked at him. "Frank Branson," he blurted frantically.

"And who the hell is that?" she asked venomously.

"He's the guy I work for! I get my assignments from him, and then go do it. Then he pays me and I pay the other guys! I don't know anything about his clients!" He was babbling frantically and included a lot of irrelevancies.

Max smiled and said, "OK, for now you can live, until I catch you in a lie. While you're lying here, contemplating your possible short future, I want you to think about your previous victims. I want you to imagine everything that you have done to others—done to you." As Max stood up the prisoner's expression was a study in fright. More grist for my artistic mill.

Max walked across the foyer into the living room where she couldn't help but notice the horrified expressions from most of the family, along with the cook and butler who both looked like they would just as soon be elsewhere. Except for Grandmother Fisher, she stood out from the others with her expression of glee.

Max said to the assembled crowd, "Geez, you'd think I murdered the Pope or something the way you all are lookin' at me. If it makes you feel any better, he was already dead, I did the mumbling for him and just broke his lifeless neck."

Everyone did look a little better, although most were still obviously upset by this whole business.

"Ah hell," said Grandma, "you would have killed him if he wasn't already dead, right?" except in her back country accent it was more like: "_youdda kilt 'im ifin he waren't ded, woun't cha?_"

"Well, yeah," replied Max, "but I'm glad I didn't have to. She signaled everyone to gather around and said, "Our working theory is that the biotech firm is the origination of the bad guys, working through your boss, Mrs. Fisher. Do you know who this Frank Branson is?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

"He's probably just a low-life contractor, a go-between. We'll do a little investigating and see if we can locate him," Max said, then she turned to me and said, "go interrogate your prisoner – find out how he makes contact with Branson. Mrs. Fisher, I need to see all the information you have concerning this biotech firm, what's their name for one?"

"Lawyer-client privilege young lady! You may not look at any of my documents! That would be unethical!" Wow, talk about getting on a high horse!

Max rolled her eyes and said, "OK Lowman, we're outta here," she turned to Mrs. Fisher and continued, "what kind of flowers would you like for your daughter's funeral? Her closed casket funeral. I won't be sending any flowers to your funeral."

She gave a kind of half moan half scream in disgust and said, "All right, all right, you've made your point, but I'll certainly deserve to be disbarred for this," as she turned to go down the hall, waving us to follow her into her office.

"I won't be making any complaints to the Bar Association, you Lowman?" said Max.

"Uh no, I wouldn't think so," I agreed, wondering what the hell these women were on about.

Mrs. Fisher's home office was quite the room. She had obviously spent a great deal of money here, a hell of a lot more money than I spent on my studio. Max glanced at the impressive rug and whispered to me, "I could get twelve, maybe thirteen thousand for that rug from a fence I know, without half trying."

I nodded conspiratorially at Max, not really knowing what I could reply to that surprising little comment. I think Max was telling me a lot more about her life than she realized, unless it was on purpose. Hmmm, have to think about that. Max and I sat down in front of the custom made maple and ebony-trimmed desk. It was very modern, moderately large, and yet was ethereal and feminine. I drifted off while studying the swoop of the curves and I was trying to understand how the woodworker had accomplished his effects when Max jammed her elbow into my side to get my attention. She was starting to understand me faster than I would have liked.

Mrs. Fisher was typing commands at her computer, and after a final punch, her printer started spewing forth paper. "This is merely a summation, even though it's more than a hundred pages. It should give you an adequate overview. I've also downloaded some of the more interesting company files, which should give you an idea of where to start." She handed Max a freshly burned DVD.

"Ah," asked Max, "you didn't log into your company server did you?"

"Why yes, why do ask?"

"Now there will be a record; in fact, if this Winston of yours is on the ball, he's probably getting an emergency message from the IT department right about now. It would be wise for this whole household to scram in the next five minutes. Can you set your security to the highest level that fast?" Max stood up, making urgent shooing motions with her hands, ready to physically shove everyone out of the house.

Mrs. Fisher was fluttering again. "Oh goodness, I wouldn't think so, that would be against company policy, I mean, surely not, that kind of thing..." Mercifully she trailed off as she finally started to get her brains in gear. She was a lawyer after all, she should be used to thinking on her feet.

Max grabbed the last of the paper from the printer and shoved it all into a handy legal-sized envelope, along with the DVD. I shot out of my chair and headed downstairs to get Denise and my prisoner.

"Hey Mr. Fisher," I yelled as I blurred my way down the staircase, "We need a place to store the bodies. We take the prisoner with us, unless you want me to execute him first? No? OK, toss him in the trunk!"

-- --

Seven minutes later we were hightailing it out of the development. Denise and I were in Mr. Fisher's truck with her parents. I was driving. He owned a Hummer of all things. The civilian version of the ubiquitous Army trucks that I got sick of seeing and hearing before I was eight. Although this one was a hell of a lot more civilized than the last one I rode in—it had leather seats, AC, and an impressive sound system. I had made the error of referring to it as an SUV to Mr. Fisher. He archly informed me that it was a 'Class III truck, not an SUV', because this was the old H1 series, not the fake H4, 3 or 2. It was even turbocharged, Lydecker's Humvee's weren't, so maybe I could outrun him if he found us. Ha, I thought, who was I kidding? I couldn't outrun his radio, could I?

Max zoomed around us on her Ninja 650, she signaled me to follow her. With a certain amount of disgust I realized that I still remembered all those stupid hand signals they taught us, practically before we could walk or talk.

Max skidded to a halt next to a pay-phone. She signaled me to stop around the corner, which I did. The Fisher's were all asking me what's going on and why this and why that ... damned civilians, why wouldn't they shut up? "Shut up and wait," I ordered. I ignored their collective shocked demeanor.

A few seconds later I heard Max's motorcycle start up, she stopped by my window and gave me an address. I followed as she zoomed off.

-- --

"This is a safe house," Max announced to all, "All of you will stay here until one of us comes back." She handed Mr. Fisher a cell phone and continued, "this is untraceable, my number is two on the speed dial—don't call me unless you have to. Don't put yourself in a position where you have to call me." Then she turned to Grandma Fisher and said, "Here is a weapon. Don't use it."

"Hah!" she said, "A Navy Colt, I know these well." And she put it in her voluminous side pocket while she studiously ignored her daughter-in-law's lawyerly expression.

I said, "I expect we'll be back tomorrow or the next day. We'll call once a day."

Max and I took her Ninja, I must admit I sure liked it better than the truck. We got to the lawyer's office building and after finding a hiding place for the Ninja we looked up at the building.

"The twelfth floor has a setback, how convenient," I said, "even though it is a modern building, the architect provided plenty of handholds."

Max handed me a canvas bag full of climbing rope and equipment and checked her watch, "Three-oh-five AM, chilly and damp. A good night for an invigorating vertical climb." I admired her athletic female form in the moonlight for a moment, then I followed her up the side of the building.

"So Lowman," asked Max as we made our way past the fourth floor, "how are you after killing someone tonight? Can I count on you to watch my back?"

"I know it's been awhile, but it's like falling off a bike, once you learn how you don't forget."

"Falling...? Oh yeah. But you didn't before, I mean, I thought this was your first time?"

"No Max, when I was about twelve, still at Manticore, you remember some terrorists back in 2015 when those recruits were murdered at an Army Base? And a Coast Guard Cutter was sunk? But you never heard what happened to the terrorist group afterwards? Even though the government suddenly shut up about it?"

"Yes, the press found out about it before anyone could muzzle them, even I saw those stories, usually on TV's in store windows. But not even Eyes-Only ever found the conclusion."

"Well, those terrorists somehow found out about Manticore Base, and apparently believed the cover story about it being a Veteran's Hospital, and they attacked us, obviously expecting a soft target."

Max chuckled cynically as she reached for another hold.

"It was a night when most of us were out on a training exercise. There were sixty of them, they split into two groups. One group took off to the west side and met an X-5 group, they all died within seconds. Me and my buddy Tallgirl jumped into the middle of the other group, while a couple of my friends, YoungestKid and BigGuy tackled their rear. I killed three of them in six seconds, the rest were killed or taken down by the others. The leader and four followers were left still alive when Lydecker caught up with us. He asked the leader who sent them. When he spit at the Colonel, he signaled me to hurt the prisoner that I was holding – I severely twisted his arm – broke it in four places, a surprising amount of shattered bone was exposed. I had to gag him to stop his screams. He passed out and the leader started babbling. Then Lydecker took them all to one of the labs, I don't know what happened then, but I have a good guess."

"Tallgirl? Lowman? BigGuy? YoungestKid? Your group didn't have much imagination did they?"

"No, Lydecker made sure of that."

"That's when you decided to leave, isn't it?" Max's tone of voice was unusually gentle, it was nicely contrasted with her powerful grip on a stainless steel extrusion.

"I had already decided several years previously, but that's what galvanized me into action. I murdered one more man after that, an innocent hiker who's only crime was to get lost in the woods, and that's when I promised myself, never again. Although I have always allowed myself an out: killing in self defense is acceptable."

"Yeah, you can't wash out ALL of Manticore, can you? Although really, you shouldn't feel too bad about the terrorists."

"Oh, I don't, it's the institutionalized cruelty afterwards that got to me. Lydecker's casual disrespect of life is caustic, and I have always been an Artist, never a Soldier. I had to get out to keep my sanity. And now, I paint pictures, some are so dark they appear to be a window into hell, but a few have a lot of light."

We had reached the balcony at the twelfth floor, Max casually reach up to the guard rail and flipped herself up and over. I followed, landing beside her with a very soft thump. We stood in companionable silence and looked around for a few minutes. We weren't goofing off, this was protocol. We were checking for anyone who might have noticed a couple of people, up to no good no doubt, scaling the building. We carefully scanned at low, medium, then high resolution every building around us, trying to see into windows, checking rooftops and balconies. Once we were as satisfied as possible that we were unobserved, Max turned to the nearest door and got out her little burglars-r-us toolkit and had that door open in less than a minute, while I took the climbing lines we had with us and tied them off to some good anchor points so as to facilitate a quick escape, should that prove necessary. The ropes stopped two floors short of reaching the sidewalk, close enough for us to drop, but far enough up so any busybody pedestrians wouldn't notice.

It was typical of high-rise buildings. There was no electronic alarm system at the twelfth floor balcony, because after all, who expected genetically engineered soldiers? Still, we were careful in the offices because these were lawyer's, they probably didn't trust anyone, certainly not each other, so we expected to find alarms on individual offices. Nor were we disappointed. The senior partner's office was easy to find—we just walked down the most magnificent corridor and there it was, along with what someone no doubt thought of as a sophisticated alarm system. Max had it disarmed in twenty seconds and we entered.

As I looked around this office, I ran out of adjectives. It was, in a word, overdone. I wouldn't call it classy as much as grandiose, cosmically pompous instead of quietly superb, over the top ostentation won out over exquisite beauty. Max said, "You look like you've been stunned with a two-by-four!"

I said, "This place is causing me great aesthetic pain. You think this guy has an ego, or what?"

"Well, I don't know aesthetics from assholes. But holy shit," she said, "we're gonna make some cash tonight. I haven't burgled anything in quite awhile, but it'll be a favor to humanity to relieve this butthead of some of his possessions!"

"I dunno Max, don't you think it'd be better to find out what we need and then leave quietly?"

"No, he knows the Fishers know what he knows what they know. You know? We need to figure out what he prizes above all in this bordello, and take it. We need to do some destruction too. This will put him off guard, and with luck enrage him. That's how we want him—out of control and making mistakes. Do you see a computer anywhere?"

There was an antique wood cupboard around the corner and towards the back that didn't have the right proportions for a genuine antique. I walked over, almost tripping on the ugliest rag rug I'd ever seen, and looked behind it for wires. I nodded at Max. We both got out our various electronic gizmos and started searching around. Eventually, we figured out the key and opened the doors without setting off any alarms. Max spotted a password taped to the inside of the door and started to turn on the computer. I stopped her, "Max, rather than try to figure any of this out here, let's just take the hard drives." Max nodded OK and I started to disassemble the machine, spotting another list of passwords taped under a shelf. I took everything that looked useful, hard drives, DVD's, a handful of USB memory cards, notes, taped passwords, everything that would fit in my pack.

Max meanwhile, was examining various artwork and statues. She'd found some scissors and cut up some fabric hangings, and that horrible rug. She piled a couple of small statues on a table, ready for easy removal on our way out.

I had a sudden wild thought and went towards the front door and turned my back to Max. I unzipped my pants and started pissing on the only nice rug in the office.

"Ewww, whisper-shouted Max, "I wanted that rug!"

"This will piss him off more then anything I can imagine," I said over my shoulder.

"Yeah, right up until they do a DNA analysis. Then what?"

"Hah, anyone who tries to trace my DNA will get a surprise visit from Lydecker." Then I clamped myself shut and stopped. That would lead Lydecker right here, wouldn't it? "Shit! You're right, I'll go find a janitor's closet, some bleach out to take care of this. Come to think, some bleach will make a mess of a lot of stuff."

"No, wait a minute, maybe that's not such a bad idea. No matter how bad this guy thinks he is, he's a wuss compared to the Colonel. He'd go through this place like a buzz saw if he thought it'd get him closer to us."

"Yeah," I said, "that's the problem. I've been completely off his radar for more than five years. This would be his first confirmed sighting of me since I escaped, I think. I'd better bleach the hell out this."

I found the janitor's closet but had second thoughts about being able to completely neutralize my liquid indiscretion. I found some plastic sheeting, sighed heavily, rolled up the damp rug and packed it in the plastic, then I poured bleach on the wooden floor. It did a nice job of staining the varnish. Then I looked around and behind paintings, wall hangings etc., and found a safe. I cranked up my hearing a bit and had that sucker open faster than the owner, probably. "Hah!" I said quietly to Max, "written records, a laptop computer, and a pile of cash."

"Take it all," said Max with satisfaction in her voice. I looked at her and noticed she had found three files hidden behind the credenza (an ugly thing – red stained zebrawood with gargoyles carved into the oversize legs). Apparently he had a special little pocket constructed behind it – never considering that years of pushing files in would leave scars on the wall. Of course, maybe norms couldn't see those scratches, but X-5 and 6 enhanced vision sure as hell could. Max looked like a contented cat as she skimmed the files.

She walked over and looked at the cash I'd found. She picked it up and swiftly split into two piles, handing one to me she said, "It sure was nice of Winston to leave his mad money here. Our money now."

-- --

It hadn't been necessary to turn on any lights because there was more than enough starlight and moonlight for our feline enhanced night vision. So, an hour or so later when we heard a couple of security guards walking down the hall we weren't particularly concerned. Max signaled me to take up a position on the hinge side of the door, while she leaped up to the ceiling and braced herself between two fake wood beams that were especially poorly proportioned and stained a totally inappropriate color. While we waited on the guards slow progress I amused myself by mentally composing a formal criticism of the interior of this suite. It practically wrote itself since I had already upchucked a veritable torrent of pithy phrases while I was stealing anything that looked valuable. The footsteps stopped in front of the door, we heard the doorknob turn.

"Hey, it's not locked!"

"Well that's funny, it was locked when I checked it earlier." The sound of guns being pulled from leather holsters was unmistakable to our ears. Then we heard the click of a radio and, "Front desk, this is Sam. Did anyone come up to Winston, Herzog, Jones and Company in the last two hours?"

'Crackle, crackle, "Nope, in fact no one has been on that whole floor for at least five hours," crackle crackle, "shall I send backup?" Damn, we would get competent security.

"Yes!"

I could feel Max glaring angrily at me, even though I wasn't looking at her. She had locked the door behind her when we entered, but I unlocked it when I went to find the janitor's closet. Sigh. I could see this would be a hard one to live down—me and my juvenile impulses.

I heard a faint cracking noise and looked up, the damn beam was deforming. Stupid things weren't real—they were getting ready to pop off the ceiling from Max's pressure on them. So Max dropped lightly to the floor and quickly, but silently, turned the knob on the lock, slowly so it wouldn't make a snicking noise as the bolt slid home.

She signaled me to follow. She'd found another door when she was exploring a storage closet earlier. We went through as silent as smoke and found ourselves in a secretaries nook, behind the guards. Much to my surprise Max signaled me to attack to the right. I was so unprepared that I missed my cue by a couple of seconds. Well, of all the X-6s I always was always the slowest off the mark. But even with my woefully slow reflexes, our surprise was complete, we knocked both of them out in seconds. They didn't even see us.

"Why did we attack?" I asked.

"I wasn't about to leave our rightfully stolen goods in that office," she told me angrily as she took out a lifted spare key and unlocked the door. I mentally rolled my eyes as we picked up our canvas bags of carefully selected swag and retraced our steps to the balcony, hurrying this time, as we could hear the elevators nearing our floor. We tossed the lines over and with the bags slung over our shoulders zipped down using descenders. It took about thirty seconds to reach the sidewalk. Leaving the lines in place, we split.

-- --


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_He is one of those people who would be enormously improved by death. _

_-H. H. Munro_

February 17, 2020

The sun was just barely above the horizon when we got back to the safe house. We had dropped off our ill-gotten gains at Max's fence. I was surprised at how little cash we actually received for the goods, my estimate was about fifteen cents on the dollar. But Max seemed satisfied so I didn't argue. So we all sat around with the various files and many pairs of eyes, and read. What a revolting read it was too. It didn't take long before we all reached the same conclusion, the fine white haired old man, Winston, was a dyed-in-the-wool psychopath. He had murdered his way to his current position many years earlier, and used murder and terror to maintain his place, as well as to win lawsuits. All the while facing the world with his kindly mien, pretending to have scads of honor. I knew something was off about him just by his complete lack of aesthetics—nearly anti-aesthetics.

Eventually, I found the smoking gun. The laptop that I took from Winston's safe had complete information on the biotech firm. Apparently, they had been one of the suppliers or subcontractors to Manticore. And now they were trying to patent some of the technology they developed (technology used to make me and Max!). But, they had to do this in a way that would be entirely unnoticeable by Manticore, they knew very well what would happen if Lydecker and Renfro figured out their game plan. That made it imperative to disassociate everything that HAD worked from the patent. So their research looked tentative instead of definitive. Once Mrs. Fisher understood the implications of all this, she looked at Max and me with understanding.

"So the reason why Pacific Biomed Pharmaceutical has been so strenuous in their argument was so they don't all get murdered by, uh, you?"

"Well Mrs. Fisher," I replied soothingly, "not us specifically, but certainly people very much like us." That didn't seem to sooth her quite as much as I had hoped.

"Really Mrs. Fisher," added Max, "the killing part is from training and early conditioning, not genes. The gene cocktail that they gave us just makes us faster and stronger." That wasn't especially comforting either, for some reason.

"Look," I continued, "we rejected the whole concept of Manticore. Max and I, and a bunch of others, left at an early age because they were trying to teach us stuff that we didn't believe. Not only that, but Max and her friends went back and destroyed as much of Manticore as they could. I would've helped if I had known about it. People can overcome early channelization and reject the teachings of psychopaths. And we did."

Mrs. Fisher still looked shocky. I started to add to my argument but Mr. Fisher shook his head at me.

Mrs. Fisher said, "So a hundred or so genetically engineered soldiers, super-people like you, but who didn't reject the 'teachings of psychopaths', were freed from their trainers by you Max?"

Crap, that didn't sound good, did it?

"Actually," said Max, "many were even more advanced than we were, and a significant percentage stayed behind."

"Look," I said, "let's get back to the problem at hand. We need to destroy your client, and at least part of your former law firm, in order to keep you and your family from being murdered by your former boss. Who, I would like to point out, is not a genetically engineered anything but just as human as you."

"No way is he as human as me," Mrs. Fisher mumbled disconsolately.

"Now," I continued, "if that old psychopath ended up dead, you could probably waltz right back into your job, with no one the wiser. So let's think of a way to do that."

Max said, "I think we need to confer with Logan. He has sources that would amaze you, and occasionally comes up with good ideas."

I was agreeable.

-- --

Logan's condo impressed me greatly. Now that's what I call a bachelor pad. Max, Lacy Fisher, Logan, Alex, Denise, and I sat around the table, too stuffed to move after eating what Logan called Orecchietta Con Cime Di Rapa O Con Verdure Stagionali and Osso Buco With Saffron Risotto Fennel. I had no idea what all that stuff was, but it sure was tasty. I could see that it would be worthwhile to remain friends with Max and Logan. I wondered if he would be interested in buying some of my work. Hmmm, how to bring that up without appearing to bring that up?

The rest of our crew was still back at the safe house, but Logan had one of his favorite restaurants deliver some food to them. I hoped they were trustworthy.

I interrupted a discussion between Logan and Mrs. Fisher concerning whether or not cooked oysters could ever be considered edible (as opposed to raw) to say, "All right guys, what's next?"

Logan got up and suggested we retire to the living room. After getting settled in, he passed out some reports that he had apparently prepared before dinner. He had been researching Pacific Biomed Pharmaceutical all day and had some interesting information.

"I have an informer at the labs there, he's not a technician, more a glorified janitor. He works for the guy who's in charge of keeping the labs clean and in order. But he's a pretty smart guy, he keeps his ears open and rarely offers an opinion. As a result, he has collected a good deal of information.

He reports that there is a sort schism at the company. The division that worked with Manticore is utterly horrified that another division in the company got a hold of their work and is trying to capitalize on it. Apparently, the lab folks are well aware of the probable consequences of crossing our friend Lydecker, but the other ones are so blinded by visions of profit that they aren't listening to their better informed compatriots."

"Well," Max said, "one obvious solution would be to get word to Lydecker. He'll shut them down instantly. Might be hard on the workers though."

"Yeah," I added, "but we would still have to take care of Winston ourselves, I doubt that Lydecker would see any reason to go after the lawyers, unless we pointed him there, and I am not at all certain that we should do that. After all, one of our objectives is to remain under his radar."

Denise suddenly blurted out, "Why not just pretend to call Lydecker?"

"What good would that do?"

"Well, you could go in and make them believe that Manticore sent you, you know, the three of you super people. Wreak havoc, give them a stern warning, kill a few of the worst, and leave." Denise was looking at me with a bit of hero-worship in her eyes. I didn't like the look of that, she had put me up on a pedestal when I would rather be in her bed. On the other hand, that was way better than the looks of terror she was giving me yesterday evening.

Denise's mom looked horrified. "Denise! How could you say such a thing!"

"Easy mom, look at the TV."

Logan's TV was on with the sound muted. The local news was showing us film of a house fire. Shit! That was the Fisher's house! Logan thumbed the remote.

"_...and was termed 'of suspicious origin' by the fire chief. Still no word on the condition or whereabouts of the family that lived there. ... And that's the Seattle Nightly News! Stay tuned for our own bikini-clad weather girl! Followed by a Seahawks update! Brought to you by New and Improved Extra-Strength Viagra! For that special..." _ Logan hit the off button.

"Kill them," she murmured, "kill them all. God will sort them out." Mrs. Fisher was strangely low voiced and calm as she spat out her orders, apparently expecting us to follow them unquestioningly. "They've burnt down our house! I can't believe Winston did that! That son-of-a-bitch must die!" she trailed off, muttering 'die very slowly' to herself. Burning down her house hit a switch that the threat of torture and murder didn't. Strange woman.

"I hope Jack-Cat got out all right," Denise mused sadly.

I hugged her, "I'm sure he's all right," I said with all the conviction I could muster, which wasn't much, but apparently enough for her.

**Interlude**

Jack-Cat pounced on a furry-chaser, it squealed as he snapped it's neck in a workmanlike fashion. He expertly disemboweled the mouse and and ate it. It didn't take long. Jack-Cat was still hungry. He spent a few minutes licking the blood off his lips and nose, then a few more minutes cleaning his paws.

He ducked down and flattened into the ground when he heard a flutter nearby. He started crawling towards the noise. Slowly, so very slowly he crept along the ground towards a blue-feathered chaser. When he judged he was close enough, he jumped into the air to pounce on it. But the bird was warned by a low sound and took off explosively, his wings actually hit Jack-Cat's snout. Jack-Cat jumped back, surprised. He then sat down on his haunches and contemplated ways to get that feathered chaser. Then he thought about rolling on his back, but there was no one around to rub his belly.

He noticed several large black-feathered birds flying overhead. They were nearly as big as Jack-Cat himself, he thought they might actually have more than a couple of bites on them. He looked carefully at their direction and apparent destination and decided to wait until he was hungrier.

Finally, he made his way back to his watching place. He lay down on his stomach and gazed at the remains of the place he had lived since he was a kitten. He wondered if he could find his litter box. He waited. He could wait a long time.

_-- --_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

We will either find a way or make one.

_-- Hannibal_

Denise interrupted our planning session, "I'm going with you!"

"NO!" I shouted at her, "you don't have the training!"

"No," Max agreed, "you'd just slow us down."

"No," Alec said regretfully, "you wouldn't add anything to the mission profile."

Denise looked immovable, "You're all wrong, I'm an actor, remember?"

"I forgot, but I don't see..."

"I'll be your officer, you guys do what I say and I'll terrorize those SOB's with words. I can do it, I've done it before after all."

"When did you do it before?" I wondered out loud.

"In a play, you know, that Gilbert and Sullivan ..." she was drowned out by our laughter.

"ATTEN HUT! FORWARD HARCH! ABOUT FACE! FORM RANKS ASTERN!" Denise ordered in a surprisingly commanding voice. Commanding or not, Alex, Max and I were rolling on the floor clutching ourselves in fits of laughter.

"Form ranks astern?" Alec burst out, "what the hell does that mean?" Denise's anger was palpable as we burst out into another spasm of helpless laughter.

"No, look!" Denise was shouting at us forcefully, "I'll be your civilian boss, who's that woman you hated so much, Renfroo, Renfur, Renfro, that's it, Renfro. I can do that, walk in all commanding and looking down my nose, with you guys doing your thing with occasional acerbic comments from me. After all, this isn't a raid, we're just going to put the fear of Manticore into these people."

We looked each other speculatively. The thought was crossing all our military minds at the same time. 'That might work.'

"That might might not be such a bad idea," Alec said out loud, "especially if we could get at least one more X-5 in our group."

"But why you Denise?" I asked.

"Because if you were all back at Manticore, isn't that how your Colonel Lydecker, or Ms. Renfro, would've done it? Walk in with troops behind her, laying down the law in no uncertain terms?"

"Well, perhaps," I agreed, "that's one way Renfro would do it. In fact, she enjoyed throwing her weight around. Lydecker was more likely to stay in the command post and direct troops from afar, but even he would occasionally stride into a situation with a few troops on either side to enforce his word, if the situation wasn't completely dire. Of course they usually used normal soldiers for that kind of op, generally whenever X-5's or 6's got sent it was to face serious opposition or assassination. Luckily, all of us escaped before being tapped for such a mission, but we heard about them and spent quite a lot of time studying missions."

Alec said, "Not all of us escaped soon enough."

"Oh, sorry Alec. But Denise, why do you want to do this? And if this is a good idea, you might not be the best person for the job. Your mother might be able to do it better."

Denise shot me a murderous glare, and her mom echoed that sentiment. Perhaps I've had better ideas.

"First of all," she said, "I am a pretty good actress, just because I haven't done anything famous doesn't mean I can't do it. Secondly, because of that, I know how to age myself a few years and I know how to act a little more mature than I am. Thirdly, I want to do this, I need to do something to get back at these people. Mom wants that too, but she has other skills, lawyer skills, which I think she is planning on using right now, right mom?"

"Right, while I am not worrying about my daughter walking into a gunfight, I'll be laying the groundwork for a legal strategy. My weekend is going to be full."

I just had to speak up, "Aren't you worried about me walking into a gunfight?"

"No," Denise and her mom chorused at me.

"OK, let's get back to the plan, whatever that may be," said Logan, "if you waltz in as if you own the place you still have to be careful. Suppose their security team is unimpressed and tries to start something? I know the three of you can dodge bullets and jump off tall buildings in a single bound, but Denise could end up arrested or worse, shot."

Max looked at Logan and said, "First, can you break into their system and research them, let's find out what we can," she phrased it as a question, but it was really a command, "and perhaps one of us can reconnoiter, check out the lay of the land."

Eventually, Logan went to his computers and the rest of us went to sleep. A soldier always catches Z's whenever possible.

-- --

Max managed to conjure up Zack, who of course objected to our whole plan and tried to hijack the operation. Max dragged him outside and we could see them arguing ferociously through the patio doors. A few minutes later they came back in, Zack subdued and cooperative but still mighty pissed. I got the impression that was his usual state of mind when it came to Max.

-- --

Max was wearing a SWAT team uniform, she looked every inch the active X-5. Denise wore a black power suit, somehow or other she managed to look like someone who commanded serious forces. The rest of us were dressed in fatigues that Max managed to dredge up from somewhere. We looked a little sloppier than her, with different weapons and accouterments. The effect was a detachment of solders commanded by an X-5, all to protect as well as amplify the words of an executive who was there to lay down the law. We borrowed Mr. Fisher's Hummer, added fake license plates and attached some military looking antennas and with multitudinous weapons we looked the very image of a Manticore op. I hung a tarp over the tailgate to hide the word "Hummer", which one didn't find on military vehicles. We were in a warehouse down by the waterfront, Logan looked us over and and said, "You guy's look alright, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were Manticore."

We had bags of explosives and computer equipment. Somehow, during the planning of this little op, our mission parameters got extended. Not only were we going to paralyze them with fear, we were going to take out their gene banks and computers.

Five of us and weapons were a tight fit in the Hummer, so Max found a nice government looking sedan (more stolen or fake plates, tsk, tsk, Max) and Zack somehow found yet another X-5, this one named Syl, who acted as Denise's driver. I was satisfied, we looked official and tough, and were actually far tougher than we looked. This should go well.

**-- --**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

_If anything can go wrong, it will._

—_Murphy_

We pulled into the underground garage in a convoy of two. Although it might have been more realistic to drive up to the front door, it seemed like too big an exposure to us. And besides, the underground entrance also opened onto a major reception area, so it wasn't completely strange.

Alec and I marched in first, scaring the hell out of the receptionists and a couple of suits loitering in the area. Then Denise and Syl walked in, followed by Max and Zack.

Denise, looking imperious as all get out, commanded, "I want Dr. Willingham here in thirty seconds." Denise was impressive, somehow she seemed taller and more magnificent than usual.

"Yes ma'am!"

In fact it was about forty-five seconds before the boss showed up. He bustled in with a major worried look and said, "You're early, and I thought you'd be at the front doors. But we're ready for the conference. Is Colonel Lydecker still on his way in?"

Oh oh, the plan was going off the rails faster than I anticipated. But Denise effortlessly ad-libbed, "The Colonel had a little problem that required his attention. You and I will start without him."

The doctor said, "Well, the conference room first then." Denise gave a meaningless hand-signal to Max. But that was part of the script, and not at all what we should be doing! I signaled frantically to Max to abort the mission, but she was emphatic in her refusal. I was deeply unhappy at being split from Denise just before the big-time shit was about to hit the fan. It would just make things worse if I didn't follow along, and if the truth be told, I guess that old Manticore discipline had taken hold. My subconscious apparently accepted Max as my superior officer. Man, all I really wanted to do was go paint a picture, Denise in the nude maybe, but no, I was following Alec down the hall while Denise went to meet my nemesis: Colonel Lydecker. Arrrghhh! I screamed to myself, inside my head.

So Max and Zack accompanied Denise to the conference room, and Alec and I went to the main lab complex.

-- --

(_Denise_)

Well, while Lowman and Alec were taking care of the lab, I attacked the conference room with my cadre of super soldiers. By the way, it's very cool to march along with Max, Zack, and Syl a step behind you, it makes one feel very safe. In fact, one can get to feeling overconfident as all get out. As I discovered when Max and I stepped into the conference room (Syl dropped back at the secretary's alcove and Zack did one of his famous fade-outs, good thing as it turned out).

As I took in the inhabitants of the conference, my entrails turned to water. But I was pretty sure I didn't let anyone see that. I just looked Colonel Lydecker in the eye and asked, "So Colonel, how's the baby killing business?"

I could feel Max grinning at me. Lydecker answered with a smirk, "It's easy, all you have have to do is shorten the range and don't lead too much. You, for instance, are in my sights." He lowered his voice at the end, it was very effective in scaring the shit out of me.

Max said, "Hi Brin, ready to switch sides yet?"

I gave the Max the 'Pipe Down' signal, both Lydecker and Brin looked surprised when Max hushed up. This of course, was all part of our contingency planning.

I started to ask the Colonel a pointed question, when there was a loud commotion from the hall. From all the crashing and banging you would have thought the building was being demolished. This wasn't part of our plan, but I was reasonably certain that it must be Zack and Syl getting testy out there. I wondered who they were fighting.

"Brin," I said commandingly and completely out of the blue, "attack 452!"

Brin automatically started to go into attack mode, and then realized what she was doing and stopped. But her moment of divided attention was all it took for Max to attack. This, of course, was preplanned between Max and me. Max was able to disarm Brin and they started a knock-down, drag out fight. What a fight it was, too! They both moved and hit so fast I couldn't even see where their strikes hit. The sound of flesh hitting flesh was amazingly loud. They crashed into walls, smashed the conference table, and finally smashed through the door into the hall. We followed their fight by the volume.

I pulled a gun out of my small-of-the-back holster. Max thought there was a good chance that no one would think to check to see if I was armed, and sure enough, she was right. So I pulled my gun and shot Colonel Lydecker in the leg, as he was gazing out through the remains of the smashed door into the corridor.

The director of the facility, and a couple of junior executives, were quite shocked at my precipitous action. For that matter, so was Lydecker. Still, he was game. He started to pull his own sidearm, but I aimed at his forehead and said, "I'll shoot again Colonel. You put that gun down and slide it away from you. And please remember, I've already shot you once, it will be easier for me the second time." I didn't mention that my hitting him at all was pure dumb luck, never having fired a gun before.

He slid his weapon towards me. "Now Colonel, I expect you have more weapons secreted about yourself; here's a tip, don't use them, for I have an itchy trigger finger. We will just wait here for one of my soldiers to to finish up and get back here."

Everyone in the room stared at me, wondering who the hell was I? Felt pretty good, really. "And if any of you junior executives decide to be a hero, well, you should know that this is a fourteen shot H&K 9mm handgun. It's not the most powerful handgun in the world, but it will kill you just the same. And I've been trained by a couple of X-5 genetically engineered soldiers, courtesy of our good friend Colonel Lydecker."

A low moan escaped Colonel Lydecker at that moment. Sweet, I thought. That bullet must be hurting him, I didn't think he'd allow himself to moan in front of anyone. Probably trying for a tactical advantage.

Finally, the fight out in the hall stopped, or at least became quiet. We were all curious as we all took little sideways glances at the entrance, waiting to see who had won, since the tactical advantage would go to whichever X-5 came through the doorway. Unfortunately for me, it was Brin and three of her norms, dragging a defeated Max with them. Still, I didn't see any more of my X soldiers, so maybe we could pull it off yet. They dumped Max onto the remains of the conference table. The Colonel looked at me—his look spoke volumes. I dropped my gun at his feet and sat down in one of the absurdly comfortable chairs that looked so out place in the trashed room.

The door behind Colonel Lydecker, which I had hardly noticed before, opened. And in walked our enemy, Homer Winston. I couldn't believe my eyes. That was when despair hit me deep. So I slid back into my chair and closed my eyes.

"So Colonel," said Winston, "you have things under control here?" He turned to me and smiled his kindly but oh-so-false smile, "so girl, you and your mother have been giving me trouble. We are going to repair that contretemps right here, right now. My plan cannot be stopped, not by you and not by the government, because you see, I am in control. I pay everyone, and I get what I want."

I was of the opinion that he was not paying enough attention to his allies, and would eventually get his. Max started coming to, with what I now recognized as X-series stoicism, that is without any moaning, noise, or drama of any kind. I slid down to the floor and cradled her head on my lap and gently rubbed her temples. I couldn't conceive of what it took to knock out Max, but it must have been one hell of a hard whack.

"You are no doubt wondering what this was all about," continued Winston, "You see, when Biotech started this whole business of trying to patent some of their research, they sent me boxes of material to sort through to bolster the case. But in amongst that material was information that they did not intend to send me, information that led me straight to Colonel Lydecker. At first I figured we'd go ahead and try for the patents, as they wanted, and I was forewarned about Manticore so I knew what to avoid publicly. But then this whole thing broke, and somehow or other you people defeated my hired muscle, and then some of you had the impertinent temerity to invade my personal space and steal from me, and I would really like to know how you did that, so I changed the plan. The good Colonel here, a competent enough government functionary, would surely be amenable to a plan that would profit all of us and make him independent of the politicos that infest Washington. So I called him, and now we're partners." He turned to Max and said, "And you my dear, with as many of your siblings as we can find, are going to be sold to the highest bidder. I think you will find that your talents will be put to good use."

At that, Lydecker picked up my gun, and shot Winston through his forehead. He said, "I don't play well with partners." He looked at me and added, "You can go now, I've had enough killing for today. And I've got 452 back, that's a victory worth celebrating."

"Colonel, you can't have Max, she's my friend." Well, that was an exaggeration, but she had come to help me and my family, and that counted for a lot.

He said softly, "I've got the guns, and the men, you'd best be going before I change my mind. I'm not usually soft-hearted enough to leave live witnesses. But you can apply for a job with me after you graduate from college, I admire a girl who can shoot like you."

Shit! I thought, that's why he's letting me live, because I shot him. That bastard!

I noticed Brin looking up at the ceiling with a frown. Then the whole building shook a little when an explosion from the basement went off. Lydecker looked worried and said something military sounding into his radio, but pitched too low for me to catch. Then I saw movement behind the Colonel, ha! he forget his back! In a well coordinated attack, Zack came through the ceiling tiles, Syl flew through the door from the hall, and Alec came from the other room. Alec captured Colonel Lydecker from behind, and snapped some handcuffs on him, I don't know where he got them, probably from some of Lydecker's own soldiers. Zack landed on Brin with his feet—he wrapped her up with a few heavy punches. Max put down two of the three normal troops before they could react, using one foot and one hand, without moving her head from my lap. I smiled at my troops. I assumed that Lowman was out in the hall, wisely staying out of sight.

-- --

**Interlude**

Jack-cat poked disconsolately through the ruins of the house. He was unhappy because the smell of charred wood so overwhelmed everything that he couldn't trust his nose anymore. He pawed at things, tasted this and that, kept trying to sniff stuff, and every once in a while violently shook a paw in an attempt to rid himself of water and crud.

He found his litter box, but it was disgusting, all full of water and soot. He couldn't understand it, it had always been freshly cleaned and filled every day of his life. So he carefully squatted down nearby and left a sign of his displeasure.

Later he found his food bowl, but there was no food in it. So he sighed heavily and turned around to head back into the woods.

-- --

Wow, was I ever glad to see Denise! That was a long time to worry that much, I swear my stomach acid was eating through the lining. Still, Alec and I had managed to set charges in the labs. We would check on our way out, but I was certain that the gene banks here were utterly destroyed. We had also stopped by the computer room, after chasing out the technicians on duty, we connected to Logan's machines, through the cutout address he gave us, and then we stole a number of backup hard drives. More explosive charges made short work of what was left. We found a bunch of backup dvd's and took them. I was worried about off-site backup, I hoped we could find reference to that in the drives we took. Anyway, that would take more research.

As we drove away I asked Max why we didn't just shoot Lydecker instead of leaving him and his troops unconscious or tied up, or both. She just shook her head and said something about enough killing for one day. Denise leaned comfortably against me and observed, "You know, we could have stayed home and your Colonel would've have destroyed the place for us, including executing Winston. No fuss, no muss."

We pondered that in silence until Alec said, "Yeah, but we would have missed all the fun!"

**Epilogue**

Jack-Cat was at his usual spot, lying under some logs at the edge of the woods, forlornly keeping watch on the cold and dank pile of charred wood and brick that used to be his house. He watched warily as a large crow walked across his lawn. He tried to catch a crow the day before, it had been a very unpleasant experience. A truck pulled into the driveway and parked, he eyed it with paranoid suspicion. The crow flapped away. His tail twitched violently as he watched five people get out and walk around, staring at the house; they appeared upset. There was something familiar about them, but they were too far away for him to smell.

When the slimmer of the two-legs came around the back, Jack-Cat raised his head. As the gentle breeze shifted around, his tail stopped whipping back and forth and then he caught her scent. Instantly, he jumped to his paws and rocketed across the lawn, leaping the last twelve feet into her arms. Denise collapsed sitting down in the wet grass, eyes watering from the smoke, stroking her cat.

**The End**


End file.
